;)

Sebastian Michaelis


Butlers ARE hot. KUDOS! to all those butlers out there.


Oh.. Came across this one. It's nice.. And what do e need after that?? [Continued below]


CPR!!!


Rod and Nicky:)


and more CPR. Heh. Oh well, I was from red cross:p


Cover of the 1996 edition of the New Yorker Magazine.



Despite his relaxed posture, the Joker’s eyes on him were intent, watchful. His voice was calm, un-Jokerlike.

“There was a girl, you know. Beautiful, like your Rachel.”

Bruce tried in vain to summon the anguish that usually came so easily whenever her name was mentioned, but the emotions fizzled in the breeze, as if the plaintiff cries of the violin had truly hushed the sting of loss and loosened the death grip of guilt that had so long festered in his heart.

“Obviously, showing her this-” the clown gestured mockingly at himself, “-was out of the question.” His voice became the Joker again, darkly teasing, “uh-uh, you don’t forget the ru-les. Except that she did make me forget. For music, she said, she could see past anything. Anything.. but this. I tell you, Batsy, learn this, if you haven’t already: women ain’t nothing but trebles.”

Bruce snorted at the bad pun. “You were a musician?”

The Joker looked mildly insulted. “I still am!”

“Who dresses up as a clown.”

A pause in the air, like a cleft, and Bruce asked wryly, “Isn’t there some unspoken rule somewhere that says musicians are supposed to take themselves seriously?”

“Oh yes. Ca-no-ni-cal and Con-sci-en-tious,” The Joker smacked his painted lips, grinning widely. “Where dedication to your craft means looking dour, wearing black, and talfking wif plumfs inf yourf moufth. Do you know what a virtuoso is?”

A sigh. “I know you’re about to tell me.”

“A musician with Very High Morals; I’m sure we all know one in our lives. And you know what music is? A complex organizations of sounds that is set down by somebody dead with a quill, incorrectly interpreted by somebody alive with a baton, who is then ignored by the musicians, the result of which is ignored by the audience.”

“Were you any good? At your- craft?” Even as he asked, Bruce wondered if their surreal conversation here on the rainy rooftops of Gotham would have constituted as flirting, something two people would do over dinner as they sized up each other’s potential. Granted the layers of palavers were more convoluted, and the stakes an unknown.. but it was also to disarm the Joker, he told himself. If he could get under the Joker’s skin as effectively as the Joker had gotten under his, he might have a chance of stopping Gordon’s plans from occurring.

The expression on the Joker’s face had turned inwards. “The devil is in the details. And I was very detailed. So, yes, Batsy. One might say one that. And you know the funny thing? In return for all our craft, all the reviews and encores and adulation, we still aren’t allowed to come in through the front doors. No. The way to the hall, sire, is through the garbage disposal doors, past the smoky kitchens, back stairs, freight elevator... but you have to suffer for your art. Everybody knows that.”

“So you turned to the art of murder instead? To share the suffering?”

“Or, to get your attention!” This time the Joker’s grin was rakish.

“And now you have it.” Bruce narrowed his eyes at him. “Except that’s not really what you want, is it? Nothing would ever be enough.”

“Ah Batsy, dear. You’ve yet to hear my masterpiece! Watch and listen. There’s music in my madness!”

“You’re not mad. “ Bruce said firmly. “Just taking the easy way out.”

“Oh-ahahaha! Not mad! Oh Batsy, I’m mad. I’m mad.” And abruptly there was so much anger suddenly pouring out of the Joker that his voice vibrated like a harp about to break, even as it fell to a whisper, filling the air- thickening it with the faceless ghosts of long-held festers. They pulled at Bruce, made him feel the old aches within him respond; his own rages, so long without voice, silently asserting themselves. Years of hard won discipline enabled him to clamp down on this rise of empathy and commiseration, strangled them before they gave voice to his own inner darkness. He knew then how close it had been for him, how near he had been to drowning it in his sorrow the way the Joker had, all those years ago.

But he also knew it was too late, the Joker was no longer a cut out cardboard monster. He had a voice, a face; there was a man behind the monster.

It only made the monster so much harder to bear.

By: Lucius_complex.

I LIKE THE ENDING:))


Definition of head banger- according to Urban Dictionary.

1. head banger
A guy who listens to heavy metal while vigorously nodding his head up and down. Ideally throwing his long hair back and forth for added effect. dirt head, metal head.

2. head banger
Bitches that are down to give head deeptroating trics
that bang there head.

3. head banger
Someone who earns respect
Someone who can fight.
Someone associated with gangs and murder.